The Running Lie
Page 33
Max laughed. ‘I don’t know if I should hug you or throttle you.’
‘Wait till I teach you to do it properly.’ He shut the door behind him. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Fine.’
‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘Does John know I’ve been recruited?’
‘Of course not. I’d like to keep my job.’ Victor shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘I have seen him though. He’s miserable. You could...
‘I can’t. And I won’t. I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Nothing else? Health wise?’
‘I’m perfectly okay.’ Had Emma told him about her pregnancy scare? But Emma always kept her word.
‘All right. Then let’s get started.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
OCTOBER, 1952
Merano, Italy
Max moved through the forest quietly. Five yards on, she had to cross an expanse of open ground, and the predicted cloud cover hadn’t materialised. The moonlight splashed through the trees in little pools, and in the open expanse, how would she conceal herself? Once she got to the edge, she’d study her options.
Two trees away, she saw a body. A man, his clothes as dark as hers. But she’d come on this mission alone.
Max drew her gun and crept towards him. Victor had laughed about how silently she could move, and said maybe they should add years of ballet classes and finishing school to their recruitment criteria. As soon as she came within an arm’s length, she brought the butt of the gun crashing down onto his skull and caught his body as he drooped. The weight nearly toppled her, but she eased him to the ground. If she left him on his front, he could suffocate. God knows if he’d get out once she made it into the building, especially if she didn’t sidestep all the alarms. But at least she wouldn’t be directly responsible.
Ten to eleven. Grabbing his right bicep, she pulled. He didn’t budge. Max swore under her breath, leaned closer and pulled again. Uncle Marcus would say she should leave him. Probably a Russian agent. She might even have to kill him if... he flopped onto his back.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
John Knox. The face under the camouflage paint was undeniably John’s.
Of all the agents she would encounter and knock out, why in God’s name did it have to be him? How could she leave him here unconscious and defenceless? Assuming she got in and out undetected, would he be awake when she came back? Rolling him definitely taught her she couldn’t drag his body out.
Max crouched beside him for a moment, then unstrapped the ropes from her small rucksack. How the hell did she end up in Italy trying John’s hands together? She felt pretty confident that when he woke up, he’d hit first and identify his target second. How long did it take to regain consciousness from being struck on the head? Her training didn’t cover that, only how to inflict the damage. John didn’t wake up in Norfolk, but he’d been bleeding as well. Max swallowed down nausea. Why couldn’t this be a normal mission?
She had half an hour’s window. And if he hadn’t woken up—well, she’d have to deal with that in half an hour.
Max selected her path across the lawn, finding small patterns in the landscape, most likely from remnant landscaping. Now that she stood still, cold began to wrap around her.
Twenty minutes later, she noted a faint ripple in John’s breathing. Her hand clenched over his mouth as he woke. His arms strained against her knots.
‘Don’t, please,’ she breathed into his ear, easing her grip away.
‘Max?’ His voice barely came as a whisper. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Guess.’
John’s breath exhaled out in a long sigh. ‘Untie me?’
She reached for the knots, painfully aware of her touch against his skin. The last time she’d freed him from ropes.
John rubbed his wrists and checked his watch. ‘I’m assuming you have the same window? Eleven to eleven twenty?’
Max nodded.
‘You should go.’ He prodded his head. ‘I think I’d be a liability.’
‘Sorry.’
John grinned. ‘I’m impressed. Where’s your next stop?’
Max hesitated. She’d trust him with her life, she had trusted him with her life. But the secrets weren’t hers.
‘I have room eight at Hotel Irma. If you want, come there. If not...’ He shrugged. ‘Good luck.’
Max grabbed his face and kissed him, and then she crept across the lawn. She felt all the more awkward knowing he watched her, but she edged and danced her way around the small depressions until she reached the building.
Once there, she took three deep breaths. This had absolutely nothing to do with John Knox. She pushed him to the back of her mind, and concentrated on this job, this moment. Her life depended on it.
About This Book
The Running Lie is the second title in the Max Falkland series, which begins with Cold Crash.
For archaeologist Maxine 'Max' Falkland, life in early-50s London is difficult enough as she tries to move on from the death of her brother, an RAF pilot shot down over Korea. But, when she meets John Knox things get more complicated...
Flying her light plane to Scotland, Max overhears whispered arguments in Russian coming from the next-door room and sees lights across the moors that appear to answer flashes from the sea. Add the mysterious malfunction of her plane and she has a lot to confide when she encounters the enigmatic Richard Ash, a local landowner and recluse. But when Knox unexpectedly reappears and a dive goes disastrously wrong, Max must act fast as she finds herself in the middle of a Soviet military plot.
A Little Switch, the final book in the trilogy, will be out in 2022.
Jennifer Young was born in a small textile town in North Carolina, USA. Her degrees are from the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill, Cardiff University and the University of Southampton (PhD). She is Head of Writing and Journalism at Falmouth University. Jennifer lives in Cornwall with her daughter.